


The Color Blue

by tsubasanobaai



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Android Gore, Panic Attacks, Post-Game(s), Suicidal Thoughts, These two would be far better off if they'd just communicate, although unintentional, and Hank's too scared, but Connor doesn't know how
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23849158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsubasanobaai/pseuds/tsubasanobaai
Summary: He felt something burst within him. It exploded like a firework in his chest and crackled throughout his entire body, igniting him. He felt it in his toes and fingers, on his tongue and behind his eyes and he thought that surely he must be glowing because there was no way a feeling like this wasn't also physical.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	The Color Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an abandoned multi-chaptered fic that I have decided still needs to see the light of day. I worked too hard on it for it not to. Enjoy! Its dramatic as hell :)

It was a series of cruel misunderstandings that has Connor currently standing alone before the bathroom mirror, expression unchanging but grip dangerously close to cracking the ceramic of the sink below. His head is turned, LED just out of sight but the unmistakable flicker of yellow clearly visible on the tiled walls around him.

His eyebrows knit together then, the corner of his mouth twitching in distaste as the dull color reflecting back at him suddenly shifts into a deep crimson. Hank would be home soon and if he didn’t get this under control, Hank would know. It was foolish of him to think that he could hide it. It would be clear to the man with a single glance that Connor wasn’t okay and Connor _hated_ that.

 _Loathed_ it.

So much so that it seemed as common an emotion as any other these days.

He'd long since rid himself of his Cyberlife issued uniform. It had taken time but with the help of Hank and his insistent pestering that a suit was not clothing (though it was), he'd finally found himself in something that felt… acceptable, if nothing else.

Hank had said that shopping for himself and finding something that fit his personality would help him become more comfortable in his deviancy but it hadn’t. He wasn’t really sure how it could, to be fair, but he’d given Hank the benefit of doubt anyway. He thought Hank knew better.

It wasn’t the clothes that were the problem though.

Instead it had been this insistent, forever blinking light at his temple. He blamed it for everything. He couldn’t lie, couldn’t deny any emotion. There was no hiding and there was no pretending. It was out there for all to see, for all to _know_. He was an android and androids were not designed with emotions in mind. So, once they’d all started feeling, whose fault was it that everyone could see? That every sliver of emotion was laughably obvious? With a quick switch of color from blue to yellow to red, everyone would know.

His torment was obvious. His anger. His despair. Every thought. Every worry.

Exposed to the world in a way that could only be described as cruel.

Hank knew _everything_. There was no hiding.

*

He turned his head slowly back to face himself in the mirror straight on, eyes focusing on the LED that was now perfectly visible to him. It mocked him, reminding him that he was messed up, and no matter how many times he tore his gaze from it, no matter how many times he tried to relax his body, to cool his center with deep even breaths, that little ring of light continued to pulse a deep red.

He just wanted to be okay.

Just once.

Just _one_ time.

He couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want Hank to come home and ask him what was wrong again, to _sigh_ when Connor inevitably failed to put it into words like he always did.

He wanted to be--

To be _okay_. For Hank. For no one else.

 _Just Hank_.

He let out a noise then; a whine… or was it a sob? His head fell forward as the sound slipped from his lips once more. There was a quiet _boof_ outside the closed door to his left where Sumo had been impatiently awaiting his return. This didn’t sit well with Connor. Wasn't logical, didn’t make sense. Nothing made _sense_ anymore. How could Sumo tell that something was off? How was he capable of noticing changes in Connor's mental state when Connor, himself, could not? When Hank could not?

 _'Disgusting_.’

There was a jolt to his system, a crack as he felt the ceramic give just a little under his grip. He had felt his system try to garble the memory as it resurfaced, to save him. To delete and bury it. He couldn’t bear to remember but there it was, an echo louder than words spoken.

It was a word Hank had muttered months and months ago. It had been said quietly under his breath, not exactly directed at Connor but clearly said in response to Connor's presence. To something he did? Said. It was something he’d said. They'd been talking casually one night. He remembered feeling relaxed and unworried. It hadn’t been anything at all, he thought, and it wasn’t until he’d noticed the change in Hank’s demeanor that he’d realized anything was wrong at all.

He never did figure it out. They’d been talking about _him,_ about cyberlife. A conversation they’d had a number of times before but this time something was different.

Cyberlife had put everything into him. _Everything_ . He had been easily seven times the cost of the most expensive model available to the public at the time. He was made to blend in, so when he'd mentioned that he'd been given the appropriate tools to carry out any and all types of human interaction, genitalia included, Hank had demanded clarification. Which he had given without worry because at that moment in time, he’d thought nothing of it. He didn’t think he had any need to _be_ worried but he should have seen the signs. The rising blood pressure. The scowl. The slight tremble in Hanks fists at his side.

 _Disgusting_ was Hank’s spoken response but analyzing it after the fact, his body language said so much more. Why was it disgusting? Why was there hatred? It was how he was born. Born? No. Created. _Built_. Was that it? Was it because he was an imitation and nothing more?

The conversation had meant nothing to Connor up until that very moment. All he could think in response was a pitiful ‘ _oh_ ’ while his temple flashed an equally as pitiful shade of red.

What he was, Hank considered to be disgusting. He did not understand _why_ but, as an android who really didn’t understand much of anything yet, who was he to question it?

*

Two weeks after that, he'd been hit by a moving train, his right arm torn from the rest of his body.

Hank had been there too and Connor would never forget the seconds that had been ticking away in the corner of his vision. How the percentage of Hank's survival had been at a measly eighteen percent when they'd finally cleared the tunnel. It had been his mistake too, his calculations, that had led them there.

He had assured Hank that they would be safe and Hank had trusted him without a second thought but he'd been _wrong_ and he was never wrong. What was he supposed to do with the fact that he’d been _wrong?_

' _God DAMN it, Connor! I trusted you!'_

Hank had been furious, laying there in a patch of grass twelve feet from the opening of the tunnel. If Connor hadn't made the decision to grab him by the back of his jacket and all but toss him out of the way last second, he'd be gone. A bloody smear on the tracks and nothing more.

Connor could deal with a missing arm. He could deal with Hank yelling at him. He could even deal with Hank's skinned and bloody knee and the inevitable guilt that would follow with seeing it every day.

What Connor _couldn't_ deal with however, was that this single event somehow managed to erase any and all trust Hank had in him.

He doubted his every calculation after that, every word he said. Connor could tell by his body language that he didn’t feel safe anymore, didn’t trust him to be reliable back-up. He had failed him as a partner and he accepted this, found it to be an appropriate punishment if he had to have one.

It wasn’t a nice feeling to know that he’d never be trusted again. It was also a feeling that never seemed to leave. It clouded every moment they worked together, suffocating him, and he hated it. He hated what he had failed to do.

He hated a lot of things.

Back then, when they’d found themselves in the damp grass on that early morning, the look on hank's face had been indecipherable. Even with Connors profound vocabulary he still couldn't name it. He had been flailing about on his back, attempting to turn himself over with his one remaining arm. The puddle of blue that was collecting beneath his battered frame only splashing and gushing the more he fought to right himself.

He had called out for Hank. Urging him to speak, to tell him that he was okay. Thirium had been spilling from his lips, making his words sound bubbly and wet as it filled his mouth and muffled his speakers. He had kept trying though, even after his words lost any and all human resemblance. Even when all that came out was a mixture of static and the high pitched trill of a broken machine.

Hank hadn’t answered him, couldn’t answer him, but when Connor had finally flopped over onto his stomach, head raised just enough to find Hank, he found the expression there to be one that he’d never seen the lieutenant wear before.

He didn’t think it had a name.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen it on _anyone_ before.

What was…?

Maybe it had been the blue. The arm? He’d lost it, after all. Maybe it had been the circuits, the crackle and fizz as they continued to thrum with electricity, hanging from the gaping chasm in his side. Twitching with the remaining life they had in them, trying to move an arm that was no longer attached.

_I’m sorry, Hank._

Connor should have been dying, should be dead now. Maybe that was it?

He had mouthed the words to him in that moment, unsure if Hank had caught it. _I would die, if I could, Hank._

Hank’s son had died, Connor recalled. The thought had violently sliced through him at the time, sprouting from an unknown place in his mind. What messed up world did he have to die but Connor get to live? Connor, who wasn’t even human?

Would Hank love him more, he wondered, if he were capable of dying? If he were to die, would Hank have mourned him like he mourned his son?

He was not human though and he could not die like one. The blood he bled wasn’t even blood, wasn’t the right _color_. He wondered if things would have been different if it were. If he bled red. Would that be… acceptable? Easier? Would that make it easier to live with the humans? To live with Hank? He didn’t want to stop living with Hank.

 _Please don’t ask me to leave, I have nowhere to go_.

*

When he went in for repairs that day, he had requested that his genitalia be removed. It was all he could think to do at this point.

He made sure to express himself as calmly as possible, stating that such additions were unnecessary for the life he’d chosen for himself. It got in the way, restricted his movements and he had no desire to use them. He thought it had sounded logical enough and to be perfectly honest, he hadn’t thought there would be a problem. There _shouldn’t_ have been a problem.

‘ _Only thing unnecessary here, Rk800, is your request.’_

They continued on to say that he should, instead, be grateful.

To say that he was shocked was an understatement but with a quick search of statistics, he quickly realized why he’d been refused. In just the last week, there had been exactly 211 local requests for an upgrade that would allow the installation of genitalia and 74 requests for the installation itself.

The numbers didn’t matter much to him though as he read through the reasons _why_. Almost all of them, aside from the few that requested it for ‘cosmetic purposes’ wanted it because they otherwise felt that they could not properly connect with their human partners.

Human partners...

Why was this not mirrored in his own relationship with Hank? Hank saw him as repulsive. Was it because he had genitalia or was it something else? Had he gotten it wrong?

Was it just because he was Connor?

Was being alive really just a cycle of unanswered questions? He was getting tired of it.

*

That was the night he rid himself finally of his Cyberlife suit and pants. He'd returned to Hank still a bloody smear of blue, though luckily the human could no longer see it. Connor was with a functional arm but instead of taking the new suit Cyberlife had offered him, he'd left in what he'd arrived in. The torn up remains of the suit he'd had prior.

If he could not rid himself of his fake human parts, then he would pretend. It was all he could do. He would be as human as he could be without being human.

' _Hank, I wish to purchase my own clothing from now on_.'

Hank had quickly agreed that this was a good step in the right direction and although he'd originally stuck with suits, he eventually found a style that brought forth a response from Hank that Connor liked very much. He’d smiled, given him a nod, and a _good job_. This was a win. This was progress.

Until it wasn’t.

' _Would you stop wearing that?!_ ' Hank had all but bellowed from his place on the couch. Hank had said he could have it, this oversized comfortably cotton hoody from Hank’s early years at the academy. So why now? Why? What did he do wrong _this_ time? So he'd struggled to get out of it, without thinking, finding Hank's outburst to be just alarming enough to send him into a slight panic.

 _Fix this fix this fix this_ \--

Hanks mad. _Fix this_.

He tugged it up over his head, hearing Hank make a noise of-- what was that? What was he upset about? When his head cleared the fabric, Hank was already up and walking passed him, a hand over his mouth, his gaze averted. He'd uttered a 'not here, for fucks sake. What the hell’s wrong with you?' and Connor felt something he couldn’t identify but felt building up deep within him. It was strong, he’d even go so far as to call it _violent_. He thinks it was an urge to scream.

He didn’t ask what Hank had meant by that though and he didn’t ask why. He just assumed that there would never be any answers.

*

Months later, here he was, fingers grazing the light at his temple carefully, trying to imagine what he might look like without it. He could easily construct a version of himself without it to view behind closed eyes but he realizes that it probably doesn’t matter. Not really. Either he does this, or he does not and he was running out of time.

He traces the shape of it, finding that his fingers are shaking. His hand, his arm. Was he scared? Emotions were difficult to place but he realized that yes, this was fear. He lets out another noise, what was that? God, what was that _awful_ noise? He places both hands on the sink in front of him, forgetting entirely that he’d already put a crack in it.

_'You look human, you sound human… but what are you, really?’_

Not human. Though that was never really the point, was it? Hank didn’t realize this back then but neither did Connor. Did they now? Did _Hank_?

A list of information he hadn't asked for began to spill into his vision. The smudges upon the mirror were toothpaste. The ingredients were listed and immediately swiped left. Hank’s spit. Water. Hair. Hair. Hair. Hank was a hairy man. Toothbrush. Soap. Again, the ingredients. The brand. Where he could purchase more. A shopping list began to form; **would you like to place an order? y/n.**

No no no no no, what was he _doing_? He watched in horror as the shopping list was sent off to Hank’s phone in the form of a text. **Order quantity? 0.**

**0**

**0**

**0000**

What was happening? Something akin to chaos roared inside him. Control was slipping.

**Scared scared**

**_Scared_ **

He remembers this feeling well. He's felt it a handful of times since becoming deviant and could even recall a few moments before, when he'd felt something similar but not quite. It hadn't been strong back then, it was more of an echo of something he couldn't name.

It did have a name now though, and although he knew that this was fear, he also knew that this was something more. Never had he felt something so… _destructive_. It was like a ball of angry electricity in him, striking him with volts of something he couldn't name from deep inside.

He was panicking.

“ _Ha-aank_ …!” Connor had no difficulty identifying the sound now. It was indeed a sob. A hiccup of emotion in the form of a glitch. There was something wrong with his voice. It didn’t sound right. It kept cutting out.

His hands began searching now that his scanners had failed him, fingers trembling as he heard things clatter to the floor beneath him. He needed something _sharp_ , something he could use for leverage. Was he really doing this? What was he doing again? He could use his fingers, his nails, scratch it off? Tear it. Tear it off. He couldn’t feel pain, it was fine.

8:11PM

**Why do you hate me?**

Did he write that? He watches as it sends, Hank’s phone number flashing in his mind as the recipient. Delivered… delivered… delivered… delivered… _read_.

His knees feel weak, his legs a wobbly mess. How was that possible?

8:11PM

**What do you find so repulsive? I can’t help what I am.**

He watches again helplessly as it sends off as a text. This time though, it’s read immediately and an incoming call comes in seconds after. He ignores it, the ringing insistent as his gaze wanders the room, searching for anything that might be able to get this damned thing off. He notices too late that he’s already clawing, a quick glance in the mirror and he sees white where his fingers had been in jagged marks along the side of his face.

8:12PM

**It’s okay, I can’t harm myself this way. It's oka**

Why was that sent in the form of a text? He hadn't meant to say that. Why would he _say_ that?

He wasn't aware it was possible to fear yourself. But that's what this was, wasn't it? God, he was so _scared_.

8:12PM

**Hank, something’s wrong.**

His grip was slipping, he could feel it go. Something was getting out of hand. Something he couldn't stop.

8:12PM

**Come home.**

He could hear Sumo, he was whining louder now. There was a clawing at the door. _You're running out of time,_ Connor. And he was pulling out drawers now, dumping their contents onto the floor in a flurry of motion hoping to find _something_. Scanning, scanning. God, his voice was a wreck. Why did he sound like that? Was that even him? The echo in this room was absolutely atrocious. It wouldn't stop.

8:12PM

**I can’t change I can’t change I can’t change I can’t change**

No no no no no--

“S-stop ii-iiiiiiitt...” He covered his face in his hands, body crumbling under his own weight as his glitching sobs rang off the walls around him. He stayed there crouched, feeling small as he rocked back and forth. He was gasping now, when had he needed to do that? Oh, his core was incredibly hot. Were his internal fans not working correctly? He tried to run a diagnostic but all that appeared were a number of error messages.

The sound of the front door had him on his feet again. Clean. Clean it up. You made a mess, _clean it up_. His name was being called out now and there was an edge to it. Oh no, Hank was mad again. Again. Again. He began searching once more, trying to find anything at all to help him rid himself of--

“Connor!” There was a pounding on the door and Connor jumped, cried out. Sumo was barking now. More pounding. He felt his fingers at his LED again, felt the lip of it under his nail. It was red. It was such an ugly red. “Open the door, Connor, the fucks going on?”

Connor couldn't answer. There was a warning about his core temperature again, urging him to breathe, so he did. His gasps had a static sound to them and Connor couldn't understand _why_. He had been fine minutes before, why was this happening?

The handle was being tried again, door creaking loudly as Hank began pressing his body weight into it.

Connor could feel something clawing at him from within. It wasn't audible but he could hear it in his veins, in the thirium tubes that ran through the entirety of his body. It was like an alarm, a loud terrified wail of urgency.

He was in danger--

**Stress level: 76%**

Oh.

The lights went out.

8:26PM

**I can't see.**

He couldn't see. There was no light even though he knew the light was still on. He could see shapes, shadows, but they came and went like a pulse he did not have. There was a curse behind the door, a _whap_ as Hank's shoulder collided with it.

“Open the door, Connor!” He couldn’t, all he could see were popups. Alerts. One in particular standing out from the rest as it grew in importance, burying the others as it clawed its way to the top like a frightened animal.

**Stress level: 82%**

Was this what it was like to have survival instinct? Flight or fight? He wanted to shut down, he _should_ shut dow--

 _He wanted Hank_.

8:27PM

**I nEDded HElplp**

There was a small ding as the text message was received. Silence as Hank read it and then a string of ‘fuck fuck fuck’s spilling from Hank’s mouth followed then by him bashing what Connor could only assume was his shoulder against the door again.

“Haaa-nnkk--” He cried, his voice cutting half way through.

There were a series of shushing sounds, as though hank were gently shushing a child. “I got you Connor, _please_ just open the door. Let me help.” He would have succeeded in sounding calm if it weren’t for the fact that he was breathless and every other word was accompanied by the sound of him trying to break the door down.

8:27PM

**I’m sorry.**

_Ding!_ Hank ignored it.

8:27PM

**I just wanted you to accept me.**

8:27PM

**Don’t make me leave, please.**

8:27PM

**I don’t want to go.**

_Ding, ding, ding_!

“Damnit Connor, just talk to me! Use your fucking words! I’m _right_ here!”

“I caaaa--nt!!”

“There you go, just like that.” His voice was so soft, “Just tell me what’s going on. C'mon, keep talking.”

**Stress level: 85%**

What _was_ going on? He was scared, that’s all he knew.

“I’m scared...” Static again as he let out another overwhelmed cry. “Hank, this isn’t-- I don’t--”

“I got you.” Hank's voice was like an anchor. Grounding him. “I know it’s scary. Take a deep breath. Listen to my voice. I’m right here, Connor. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got nowhere to be but here.” Connor believed him, of course he believed him.

He watched the 85% tick down a number. He felt light with it. Like the pit he'd fallen into suddenly wasn't so deep.

“How do you do it…?” Connor had asked it without meaning to. Finding that his voice was small, quiet. Defeated. The insistent creak of the door had stopped, Hank’s body weight no longer pressed heavily against it. Connor felt like he was in the eye of a storm, any moment now it would kick back up, tear him down, tear it all away.

But for now he blinked. The tiled floor below him slowly coming back into focus. The color fading back in. A breath. Two.

“Do what, Connor?” Many answers came to mind. All jumbled together and all too complex and foreign for Connor to understand.

“ _Live_.”

It was a question that blanketed many.

“Practice. Uh, fucking experience, I don’t know? Shits fucked up. I get it. Believe me, I get it. You know as well as I do I’m barely gettin’ by but...”

Connor didn’t answer. He’d seen Hank reach for a bottle or two recently and pull away, ashamed. It wasn’t always, sometimes he caved, but Connor recognized the progress. Saw it in the way Hank made his everyday decisions. Substituting what was once habitual methods of self-destruction with something _good._

He was putting in an effort, he had found something to change for. What that something was, Connor couldn’t fathom, it surely wasn't him, but he loved whatever it was, he loved that it could do this, that it could-

“I wouldn’t have lasted another year without you, Con.”

A lie.

Lies. They were lies.

There was _no_ way.

Connor’s breath caught, anger swelled. How could he _lie_? He folded forward, his forehead pressed to the cold bathroom floor, hand grasping the fabric of his shirt, squeezing, wanting to dig the pain right out of his chest. He sobbed. The storm was returning, he felt it billowing up all around him.

"Connor, please. For fucks sake just open the door.”

He wanted to. There was no longer an overwhelming alert bombarding his systems. His center had cooled but in this small moment of panic it had risen once more. He was scared again. Angry. Confused. He turned his head, eyes locking onto the handle of the door.

He rose, using the sink for balance as he found that his coordination was off. He reached out, hand touching the knob, flicking the lock and pulling the door open with an eerie creak. Hank looked… he looked…

“You’re a cruel man, Hank.” Connor stated simply, eyebrows pulled together with a wild look in his eyes. Hurt and vulnerable, ready to lash out if threatened. Hank looked, well, it was that indecipherable expression again. Connor hated it, he hated it so much, but there were hands on him suddenly, Hank's hands. They were large, comforting.

Hank crowded into the bathroom, unintentionally pushing Connor back. He uttered a quiet ‘ _I know_ ’ before his hands cradled Connors face, held him still and spoke a thousand apologies with eyes alone. After a few moments of Hank whispering soft comforts, telling Connor he’s okay, it’s okay, it’s going to _be_ okay, his eyes flicked up, fingers running along Connors cheek up to his temple.

“Oh, Con, what did you do?”

He had just wanted to be okay.

“Really did a number on this thing, fuckin’ things barely hanging on, uh, do you want to… do you want me to…?”

Connor was tired.

He only nodded his head slowly.

*

They’d found themselves in the bedroom. Connor sitting on the floor facing away from Hank and Hank perched on the very edge of the foot of the mattress. He was looming over the android, a pair of tweezers poised under the lip of Connor’s LED. Connor kept trying to look at it, tilting his head to get a better look at what Hank was doing but of course, doing so made it impossible for Hank to do anything at all.

"Hold still, Con. Please."

Connor felt a hand on his jaw then and he could easily tilt his head again if he wanted to but the slow influx of information coming in left him feeling… _foggy._ Fingerprints along his skin had his system automatically scanning them, information flooding in and pulling him under. 

_It was all Hank_.

Articles, pictures and announcements. Celebrations. A video, his voice. He heard him _laugh_. It was distant and laced with static, perhaps an old video that was dug up from the depths of the internet, long forgotten. There was one where Hank was receiving a medal, and another where he'd been interviewed. All toothy grins and silly obnoxious little jokes. He was charming in one, and ridiculously awkward in another. 

He was… _lovely_ , to say the least and he was a _good_ man. 

Connor hates how he sometimes finds himself questioning that and he thinks… he thinks that maybe there's been a misunderstanding. There had to be.

Emotions were _so_ easy to misunderstand.

"Con?"

"Yes?"

"Sure you want me doing this?"

"Yes."

"Won't regret it?"

"I don't think so. I could always get another if that happens to be the case but it… I don't think that it will." Hank didn't answer. Not right away. His hand had retreated back to his side as he seemed to be considering the implications of such a decision. He wasn’t sure he should let Connor do this after what he’d just witnessed. "I can do it myself Hank but I'd much rather you do it. Please."

"I'm not so sure… how you were in the bathroom, it was--"

Connor tilted his head back to look up at Hank, letting himself lean into the warmth behind him without thought. The softness of Hank's tummy was a comfort he hadn't realized was there and he had to stop himself from pressing back, hoping that comfort would swallow him whole and save him from ever having to think again.

"That was about so much more than just my LED, Hank."

"I can imagine..."

"And… I have questions."

"Yeah?"

"Questions I should have asked a long time ago. When I first realized I had them...” He trailed off, blue rising to his cheeks as he unintentionally avoided Hanks eyes. This was personal, shameful. Hard to say. He almost wished not to speak of it at all but he knew that that was what had landed him here in the first place so staying silent was not an option. “And I think I let myself get bad, bad like...”

"Like me?" Hank asked a little too quickly. He was smiling but it had a muted sadness to it.

"Was too in my own head I think…"

"Nasty little thing, ain't it?"

"Yeah..."

Quiet again.

Connor gazed up at him as the seconds ticked by, his head resting on the swell of Hank’s belly as he felt his processors begin to slow with the overwhelming sense of calmness creeping in. He felt safe, sheltered. It was as though nothing could reach him here.

Hank was a large man and in this room, in their tiny little home, Connor felt the safest he'd felt in a long time. If it were possible and not entirely inappropriate to ask, he’d ask to stay here forever.

"Oh come on, why you gotta be lookin’ at me like that, huh?”

Connor perked up at that, equal parts confused and equal parts intrigued. Hank seemed… embarrassed, maybe even outright frazzled, which was odd given how Connor had been so lost in the comfort of Hank’s presence he didn’t think it possible to feel any other way. Hank's blood pressure was steadily rising though and he seemed distracted.

Connor replayed the last few minutes in his head, analyzing them in hopes of pinpointing a cause but finding none. That made him nervous. 

His instincts told him to look away too, that Hank didn’t like him staring but he realized that those instincts might be outdated, wrong, and so he simply reminded himself to ask.

 _Just ask_.

“Why does it bother you, Hank?” It was said so simply, so innocent.

“Too fuckin’ pretty-- can’t stand it."

 _Oh_.

With eyes wide, Connor smiled, lips trembling like he was on the verge of tears.

He felt something burst within him. It exploded like a firework in his chest and crackled throughout his entire body, igniting him. He felt it in his toes and fingers, on his tongue and behind his eyes and he thought that _surely_ he must be glowing because there was no way a feeling like this wasn't also physical.

Pretty. _Pretty_. Hank had called him pretty and he wanted to _return_ the compliment. Wanted to twist around and grab that bearded face and pull it toward him and name off _every_ word in the dictionary he’d ever used to describe Hank.

But Hank was slinking away, his hands gripping the mattress’ edge as his face deepened in color and it was like he couldn’t bear to look at Connor anymore, like he’d been staring into the sun for too long and Connor had to really think, really consider the possibility that maybe he really _was_ glowing like a beacon. Maybe the thirium he felt pumping through him at an alarming rate had risen to the surface and somehow blinded the man.

Connor moved, twisting around where he sat, knees shifting along the carpet as he put a hand on Hank’s thigh and beamed up at him with a smile so bright and so beautiful Hank just about burst into tears. Or screamed. Both were beginning to seem like possibilities because this was beginning to simply be _too much_.

“I’m pretty, Hank?” He asked with a flutter of lashes and Hank groaned. He seemed almost annoyed but Connor recognized it as something closer to embarrassment or shame. Maybe defeat. He wondered how Hank could possibly feel that way when he'd just made him so _happy_.

He began to rise, his free hand landing on Hank's other thigh as he pushed himself up, now fully facing the man. He wanted to look Hank in the eye, to be given a chance to dissect and find meaning behind Hank's actions but Hank's hands were suddenly on him again. Palms on either side of his face, squishing his cheeks with pressure meant to keep him still.

"Oh no you don't, sit your ass back down." Connor could tell he’d meant to sound stern but he was stuttering, cheeks a deep shade of red and Connor could only stare at him, blinking in confusion as he slowly lowered himself back into a sitting position.

“Hank?”

“We doing this shit or not?”

“Doing what?” He blinked innocently, his lips pouty. Hank’s hands were still on him, squishing his face.

“Your stupid little light... _thing_!” He said it like a question as he gestured wildly, like he wasn’t even sure anymore.

“Oh right. Yes, of course.” Because he’d forgotten. It just didn’t seem important anymore and Connor still couldn’t comprehend why Hank hadn't let him shower him in compliments. Why he’d suddenly changed the subject like that. It was distracting, to say the least, because Connor knew he could. He’d do it so well too! He had the entire english language at his disposal after all.

“You’re like a damn puppy I swear...” Hank was muttering as Connor turned himself back around like he’d been before. He was reluctant though, a pout never leaving his face.

“I am not a _dog,_ Hank.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m just gonna do it now, okay? You ready?” And Connor made a noise, already long past the point of caring. The earlier events of the day felt so far away now. The fear and anger, the sadness, all seemingly burned away by whatever _this_ was that he was feeling now.

Hands were gently gripping his jaw again, his systems immediately drawn to the points of contact. He hummed lighty before purposely trying to press into it, delighted when Hank didn’t immediately pull back. He had touched him a lot this evening and Connor made sure to record every second of it, every detail.

“Tilt your head a bit.” 

And he did, eyes slipping shut as he felt Hank’s strong heartbeat through his fingertips steadily grow in volume until it was all he could hear, all he could _feel_.

A _ting_ is what pulls him back though and his hand shoots out automatically to catch the little ring midair before it could land itself across the room. Hank was leaning over him immediately after, checking his temple, obviously expecting to see something amiss, but Connor was too focused on the little ring sitting in the center of his palm to inform him that it wouldn't leave a mark.

He’d expected more, to be honest. He was almost disappointed.

No.

He _was_ disappointed.

He frowned down at it, something in him wondering why the heaviness in his heart hadn’t immediately crumbled away. There was… nothing. Nothing at all.

“Con?”

“I thought It’d… fix me.”

“Takes time.”

“No, this was supposed to be immediate, I was supposed to--”

“That’s not how it works. Listen, if it were that easy, don’t you think I’d have my shit together already?”

Connor was too frustrated to see the logic behind Hank’s words. He wasn’t quite sure where he’d gotten the idea that this would be easy but now that he was faced with the realization that it wasn't, he wasn’t quite sure what the next step should be. Should he… no, there was nothing else to do. This was it.

He couldn’t just keep tearing the Android parts away. That's all he was and if he kept at this, there'd eventually be nothing at all.

“Just gotta learn, Con. Like I said, it’s all about experience.”

“Experience...”

“And maybe… talking about it? That was probably my first fuck up. Didn’t have… didn’t want to… you know, just internalized it all and let it...” Hank let out a groan, a hand rising to scratch at the back of his head in something Connor learned to be a telltale sign of climbing anxiety, “ _Eat away_ I guess, till I was...” _Sitting on the bathroom floor unable to breathe_. “...bad, or whatever.”

Connor couldn’t help but still analyze the little ring sitting in the middle of his hand as he listened. He wondered how this would change things. Now that his thoughts weren't on display for all to see, he realized this would give him a chance to quietly consider them and what they meant. Before, he was always so focused on burying them, cutting them off and reassuring Hank that he was fine, but now he wouldn’t have to.

Now, he was a swirling whirlwind of emotion and Hank was none the wiser.

Or maybe he was.

Maybe the fact that Hank always _knew_ had nothing to do with his LED at all. 

"It's all a part of growing up." Hank said, voice a low murmur. He sounded far off, like he wasn't aware he was even talking. "Whatever you think you should be, or shouldn't be, it's something you work for. It's not… like a title you're given, ya know? The answers aren't all written out. You earn it through making mistakes and learning from them."

Connor could understand what Hank meant from a logical standpoint but he couldn't _feel_ it. He didn't feel comforted. He didn't feel hopeful. He just felt… lost. He wasn't sure he was capable of doing this, it'd already left him feeling so broken.

"I'll answer whatever questions you might have when you have them but honestly? My answers might be shit. You okay with that?”

“... and what if you don’t like them? The questions I mean.” Connor was so scared of that.

“Might happen… not gonna lie. Though I doubt it. Chances are you’re just overthinkin’ but if that does happen to be the case, we’ll work it out. There’s nothing wrong with _not_ being perfect all the damn time and if you can deal with my being an ass, I can deal with you asking stupid questions.”

“They’re not _stupid_ , Hank. You just said--!” But Hank was suddenly ruffling his hair with a grin and all other words left him. Ah, he sees. Hank was just teasing him.

“Next time that happens--” Hank begins, jerking his head towards the open door of the bathroom across the hall, “...or you _feel_ like it’s going to happen, come to me, yeah?”

“Ok...”

*

Hank had asked Connor what he wanted to do with his LED later that night after dinner and at first Connor was confused, not entirely sure what _could_ be done with it until Hank brought him back to the bedroom and dug out a little box. 

He said it was where he put important things, things that mattered to him, and when he opened it Connor noticed the worn pictures and yellowed paper from Hank's youth. Pictures of the family he had before, long gone. Movie tickets. Folded up pieces of paper with who-knew-what written on them.

He wanted to scan so bad. He unknowingly initiated the program again and again and chased it away until Hank finally asked him what the fuck he was doing.

“What, you want your own dusty little box of secrets, mine not good enough for you?”

“No. No Hank. This is. Perfect.” He took a step forward, a swell of emotion sitting heavy in his chest. He felt it at the back of his throat and in his eyes. And it wasn’t until he saw Hank’s expression soften that he realized he’d been on the verge of actual tears.

So he repeated himself.

“It’s perfect Hank.” And held out his LED, something that Hank had just admitted was as important to him as his family, “Please take care of it.”


End file.
